The Little Engineer That Could
by ToddF
Summary: An earthquake shakes the confidence of Station 51's crew. K for language.


(this was my first-ever E! story, written in 2004 or so and published on the late, lamented site KMG365... )

The Little Engineer that Could

By Todd F.

Mike Stoker sat at the dayroom table, sipping coffee and reading the paper as C-shift rustled around him, getting ready to go home. He was in the habit of getting to the station a little earlier than his co-workers, to get first dibs on the newspaper. He knew his alter ego on C-shift, Engineer Chris Dobbs, tried to pick up a paper whenever he could on early morning dumpster fire runs. Mike in turn did his best to grab a paper for the man who took his place, B-shift Engineer Anton Kablevsky. And Anton returned the favor for Chris. And so on. Of course none of the other guys on any of the shifts knew where the paper came from. They just assumed it magically showed up every day – and the tight-knit engineer's club wasn't about to set them straight. It wasn't their way.

Then there was the entertainment – another good reason for getting in early. Quietly sitting at the table, hidden behind the paper, Mike was in the perfect position to observe each of his colleagues as they headed for their morning coffee before roll call.

"Hey Michael." Mike didn't even have to look up to know that it was Cap striding into the dayroom. No entertainment today from leadership; it appeared Captain Stanley was not feeling obsessed about anything in particular just yet. "Hey Cap," he answered, before going back to the shelter of his newspaper. Captain Stanley poured a cup of coffee, sat at the table, and started sorting through ad flyers that Mike had tossed aside. He's still pricing eight-track tape players for his wife, Mike noted silently. That should be good for a rant or two later this week.

On a good day, John Gage showed up on time, got dressed quickly, and bounced into the dayroom looking for his caffeine fix, which again the guys always magically (and wrongly) assumed showed up every morning on the counter without effort. But on a bad day, Mike would never see him until roll call -- Johnny would run from the locker room at the last minute, stumbling into the apparatus bay, taking his place in line while simultaneously buttoning his uniform shirt. Apparently this was to be a good day, as Roy and Johnny walked into the dayroom together, chatting amiably about their accomplishments during their off-time. Something about yard work at Roy's house . . . Mike tuned out, since he had plenty of yard work of his own to do.

Chet wandered in. "Hey Cap, Mikey, Roy, Johnny." Chet ignored the coffee pot, which Roy and Johnny were still hovering over, headed for the table and started sifting through the parts of the paper that Mike had finished. That meant only one thing; Chet was back on a health kick, one that included no caffeine. There could be some extra entertainment today, if Chet was on food detail. Mike made a mental note to unearth his stash of beef jerky from his locker later on.

Marco walked in, the last member of A-shift. "Hey guys," he addressed the room. "The weirdest thing happened this morning. My dog started freaking out, walking to the door and back, whining and refusing to go out when I opened the door. He was still acting strange when I left."

Mike perked up his ears. This was a little more interesting than Chet's eating habits.

"Ya know, they say dogs know stuff that we don't. Maybe he was tryin' to tell you something," Johnny offered. Gage has a point there, Mike thought silently. He started thinking back to an article about dogs he'd read a couple of weeks ago in a magazine.

"Yeah," said Chet. "Like Henry here, you get the feeling he's full of ideas and emotions that he just doesn't know how to share with us humans."

"Shut up Chet," Johnny said. "The only ideas Henry has are how to eat, sleep and shed. I'm talkin' about real pets, not couch-warmers."

"You'd know all about couch-warming, since that's what you're left doing when your dates dump you."

"Har-de-har-har, Chet. At least I have dates, and I don't have to get warmth and companionship from dogs."

"Dogs? What was that Gage? Your dates are dogs? Your last date was a real dog?"

Johnny started sputtering and stammering, like he always did when in the middle of a heated exchange with Chet. It always amazed Mike that Johnny willingly got involved with these discussions, considering his lack of verbal agility. Johnny was not dumb, not by any standard, but sometimes it seemed he just couldn't translate his brain waves into speech.

"You know… oh man… that's not what we're… what I meant… " Johnny paused and started again. "I'm just sayin'…"

Mike could see Cap and Roy had reached their annoyance quotient for the morning. Just as Roy was opening his mouth to distract his partner away from the topic of conversation, Captain Stanley beat him to it: "Sorry to interrupt you boys, but roll call is in five minutes." He walked out of the dayroom, coffee cup in hand, and headed for his office.

"So anyway," Marco resumed, "for all I know he's still pacing around the house, whining and pawing at the door. I'm thinking of asking my sister to check up on him later."

"Yeah, that's not a bad idea," Roy replied. "You don't want him taking a dump in the house or something like that." The thought made the group grimace, almost in unison.

Suddenly Mike remembered the point of the article he was trying to recall. "I read somewhere that dogs can predict earthquakes and epileptic seizures through their behavior," he said, softly but clearly, looking at Marco from over the sports section.

The entire A-shift stared at him, although he didn't know if it was because of his statement, or because of his unexpected contribution to the conversation. He blushed and went back to his paper, killing time before roll call by reading a feature about Dodgers' pitcher Andy Messersmith.

*

The members of A-shift stood at attention in the apparatus bay as Captain Stanley read the day's announcements. As usual, Mike stood at the end of the line, nearest his engine. That way he could keep half an ear on what Cap was saying, while looking for smudges and dents in the chrome that Chris and Anton had missed.

"….and they'll be testing those new hose dryers at HQ next week, so maybe we're a step closer to trashing the hose tower for good…Michael? Would you care to join us?"

Mike nearly jumped out of his skin. Cap didn't usually catch him out like that. Chet and Johnny started giggling. He decided there was no need to make an elaborate excuse; that would just give the Bobbsey Twins more ammunition. "Sorry Cap," he said simply.

"OK, today's duty roster: Stoker, mop the bay… once you come back to the land of the living. Kelly, kitchen duty and hang the left-over hose. Lopez, latrine. Gage, help Chet hang hose. DeSoto, clean the dorm and come see me at some point so we can talk about in-service training. Dismissed."

"Uh, Cap?" Mike said quietly as the men dispersed. He wanted to mention his suspicions about Chet's current dietary habits.

"Yeah?"

"About Chet and kitchen duty…"

"Yeah?"

"I wouldn't. He skipped coffee this morning."

"And that means what?" Captain Stanley started, before realization dawned. "Ah, I gotcha. OK, I'll keep an eye on that." He clapped Mike on the shoulder…

…and that's when it happened.

The floor started to roll underfoot, first slowly and then more quickly. The large bay door, which was open to let in the spring air, rattled overhead in its brackets. "Ho there!" Mike heard someone yell from the dayroom, probably Chet. Mike and Captain Stanley trotted outside, even though the fire station was fairly earthquake-proof.

"About a six, wouldn't you say Mike?" Cap offered. Mike didn't reply, except with a distracted smile. He had never been very good at the earthquake game all Californians seemed to play on a regular basis, Guess-the-Richter-Scale.

A cracking sound in the street in front of them grabbed their attention. Even as the rolling motion of the earth under their feet calmed down, 223rd Street continued to heave and tumble. A crevice opened up, a diagonal slash that crossed most of the street, big enough to swallow up a small car. Smaller cracks traveled from the crevice like tiny tributaries of a larger river. One of the cracks worked its way diagonally up the driveway where Mike and Captain Stanley stood, stopping just short of the squad's front tires.

"Jesus!" Cap yelled, leaping back into the bay. "Shit!" muttered Mike, as he followed suit. At the same time, the squeal of tires drew their attention back outside. It appeared a small car had, in fact, taken an unexpected trip into the crevice. By then, the other men had scrambled into the bay.

"Oh man!" Johnny yelled as he saw the car's predicament, and ran out toward the street, Chet and Marco close on his heels. Mike and Roy grabbed at them, as Captain Stanley held up his hand and hollered, "Wait up! Let's let things settle for a second before someone gets hurt!" Johnny didn't look too happy with the decision, but he shook off Roy's grip and, instead of heading out to the street, ran to the squad. Grabbing some equipment, Mike supposed. A rescue man to the end.

As if in response to Captain Stanley's warning, the ground started to shake and heave once again – an aftershock, thought Mike, although it seemed as bad as the original. Traffic on 223rd was halted on either side of the crevice and people were getting out of their cars, only to be left clutching their side-mirrors and fenders as the aftershock rolled through.

"Now fellas," Cap began as the rattling overhead died down again. "Here's what we're going to do. Mike, get on the horn and call in our status to dispatch. We may have problems getting the engine or squad out of here with a big freaking crack in the driveway. Also, call in a still alarm for that car, so they'll know we're out of quarters. Johnny and Roy, you guys come with me to check out the car. But we won't do anything, I repeat, ANYTHING, until I'm convinced you're not going to fall to China in that hole. Chet and Marco, it looks like we had a few fender-benders out there; check 'em out. Let's move, and be careful!"

Mike headed to the mic and turned down the dispatch monitor, which was already starting to squawk with tones for other stations. L-A County dispatch wasn't going to be too happy to hear what he had to say. "L-A, this is Station 51."

"Stand by 51."

Mike waited. Normally after a quake, big or small, stations called in their status as a matter of course. A minute passed. The long wait told him more than the Guess-the-Richter-Scale game ever could.

"Go ahead 51." Mike noted that Sam's voice seemed a little tighter, and faster, than usual.

"L-A, Station 51 will be unable to respond to calls for an undetermined period of time, due to nearby road damage."

Mike swore he could hear Sam sigh deeply. "Copy that, 51. No responses for undetermined period of time."

"Also L-A, station 51 is responding to a still alarm in front of the station…" Mike had to pause for a moment to remember the station's address, "… at, uh, the 2000 block of East 223rd, cross street, uh, Wilmington, for a car involved in a road collapse. Unknown injuries. We have not yet determined a safe route for ambulances, so hold ambulance response."

"Copy that, 51. Still alarm outside the station, 2000 block East 223rd, cross street Wilmington. Holding ambulance response. Station 51, be advised that once you determine an ambulance is necessary, ETA could be a half-hour or more."

Damn. Maybe they'd better get an ambulance anyway, just in case. By the time they got the victim or victims out, ambulance response time could be forever. On the other hand, what was the point if the rest of 223rd looked like it did by the station? But if no one was seriously hurt in the car and they tied up an ambulance that was needed elsewhere, no one would win. Mike made a decision and depressed the mic button.

"Copy that L-A. Go ahead and respond an ambulance then. We'll stay live on HT 51 in case there's any problems with their arrival."

"10-4, 51. Responding an ambulance to your location."

"Station 51 out, KMG-365." Mike dropped the mic and grabbed a handy-talky, then headed outside.

*

He was greeted by mild chaos. 223rd Street was two lanes in either direction in front of the station, and cars and trucks occupied all four lanes. None of the fender-benders looked serious though. Chet and Marco waved him off, so he went to see if Cap, Roy and Johnny needed his help.

"Got it called in Cap," he told Captain Stanley as he approached the large gap in the road. "Could be a while for an ambulance, but I had them send one just in case."

"Great pal, thanks," said the captain. He was standing over the crevice with Roy, hands on his hips, talking strategy, as Johnny lay on his stomach to take a quick look inside and chat with the occupants of the car. At times like these, Mike always felt a little useless. He knew basic first aid, but Chet and Marco seemed to have everything under control. He admittedly wasn't the most chatty guy in the world, so comforting upset victims wasn't his forte. Even when he was a hose jockey, he disliked the rescue aspect of the job. It was fine with him that Johnny and Roy had the market cornered on confined spaces. So that left driving the engine, acting as second in command and making sure everyone had enough water pressure – none of which felt important in this particular instance. He found himself wishing for the ability to respond to a call, any call, even a quake-spooked cat in a tree, just so he'd feel helpful again. It was time to find a use for himself. He knelt next to Johnny.

"Whadaya got John?"

"Well, we got us a young woman who was heading to work when the road dropped out in front of her," Johnny said cheerfully, as much for the victim's sake, Mike was sure, as his own. "She was wearing a seatbelt and is feeling OK, just banged her lip on the steering wheel as far as she can tell. But there's no way she can open the doors or get out the side windows; she's too wedged in there."

"Break the rear window and pull her out?"

"That's what Roy and Cap are talking about right now. Or maybe, I was thinkin', we could haul the car out of there all at once, to keep her from getting showered with glass when we break the window. But I'm not all that sure what we'd haul it with. A shame we can't get the engine out here."

Mike nodded in silent agreement. There was no knowing how bad that crack in the station driveway really was, and they risked sending the heavy Ward LaFrance engine into a sudden sinkhole if they pulled it out of the bay.

Cap and Roy walked back over to where Johnny and Mike were. "Let's break the back window. John, get her to put a coat or shirt or something over her head," Captain Stanley ordered.

Johnny hung over the crevice to shout instructions to the trapped woman. Meanwhile, Chet and Marco came over to give an update to the captain.

"Cap, we just got a couple cuts and bruises out there," Chet said. "Everyone's more shaken up than anything else. Some of 'em want to turn around and go back the way they came – is there any way we can figure out what shape the rest of the road is in?"

Mike didn't stay to hear Captain Stanley's reply. He was trotting back into the station, to get some tools and turnout gear for the window-breaking attempt. As he grabbed the items they would need, he noted that at least they would be able to get their own personal cars out of the lot, since the cracks had spared the side driveway. "Not much point in us staying if we can't respond to anything," he muttered, and headed back out toward the group.

*

Roy relieved Mike of the objects he had retrieved from the apparatus bay, and started handing them to Johnny, who stood on the car's rear window frame, straddling the window. Mike stood back and watched.

"Ready now? Keep that shirt over your head," Johnny yelled downward. Mike couldn't hear the reply but he assumed it was in the affirmative. Johnny put on his turnout coat and goggles, and began whacking at the rear window with one of the heavier tools.

"Cap, he's done," Roy hollered after a moment, and started heading into the crevice as Johnny shimmied into the car. Roy froze as his foot touched the car. Mike wondered why, but then quickly realized the reason – the ground was rolling again.

"Aftershock Johnny, sit tight," Roy said quickly. When the shaking started, Mike and Captain Stanley had lurched forward to grab Roy's arm, but he shook them off, riding out the wave. The car settled slightly lower in the crevice as the shaking ceased.

"OK Johnny?" Captain Stanley yelled.

"Yeah Cap, but something down here shifted. She's gotten all tangled up in the pedals. The dash and firewall are compressed, or something."

"How's she doing?"

"Says her feet and ankles don't hurt much, but damned if I can get 'em out. And that little bump on her lip looks to be more like a broken cheekbone to me."

Mike heard Roy and Johnny muttering, then Roy yelled "coming up" and slowly made his way back onto the street.

"Cap," Roy said, "I don't suppose there's a way we can get the engine or squad out of there."

Cap looked expectantly at Mike.

"Give me a sec," Mike replied and ran back over to the station. The crack in the driveway was about two feet wide, with one side considerably lower than the other. At a bare minimum, the engine's undercarriage and frame would take a real beating and be unable to tow anything. In a worst-case scenario, it would get caught up and stuck – or the crack wouldn't hold up to the weight. The squad weighed less, but its tires would never maneuver the crack successfully. Mike knew they needed to get the car out of the crevice, but Big Red and the squad wouldn't be doing it.

Mike dejectedly made his way back to an expectant Captain Stanley and Roy. "No way Cap," he said.

He was pleased to see the captain trusted his judgment enough to say, "all right then. Other options?"

There was silence for a moment as the men thought. Roy looked across the crevice to the vehicles gathered on the other side. "I wish that 18-wheeler was on this side," he said wistfully. Mike looked too. A big rig could certainly pull that car out, but pulling from the other side would mean dragging the car out on its roof – too risky for its occupant. The vehicles trapped on their side of the crevice were all too small for the job.

Silence took over again, and Mike's mind started wandering. Until now, he'd given only a brief thought to how Beth was doing. He knew she was probably safe in their new one-story house, but he wouldn't mind being home with her right now. Driving home wasn't going to be much fun though if more roads were like this. Driving home. Driving. That was it!

"Cap!" he said, startling his companions. "We've got Johnny's Land Rover, my truck and Chet's van. They all got tow hooks. And the side driveway is OK."

Captain Stanley considered the idea. "Michael, you may have something there, pal. Chet, come here, wouldja?" he yelled across the divide, where Chet and Marco had gone back to chat with the motorists. Mike could see Chet stop what he was doing and head the long way around the crevice to where the captain, Mike and Roy stood.

Meanwhile Roy yelled down to Johnny, "where's your keys?"

"Why?"

"Mike's got an idea. We're going to use the Rover, his truck and Chet's van to haul this puppy out of here."

"In my locker, in my sneakers. Chet's van? Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"What about my van?" Chet said as he came up behind Roy.

"We're going to use it with Johnny's Rover and Mike's truck to get this car out."

"Oh, don't you worry about my van, guys. Volkswagons were built just for emergencies like this."

Roy grinned, and Mike could imagine Johnny smiling down in the crevice as well.

"OK then fellas," the captain said. "Let's get this show on the road." Marco was there by then as well, wondering what the pow-wow was all about. "Marco, lets get these other cars out of the way so the guys have room to back up."

*

A few minutes later, Roy had taken Johnny's place in the car, while Johnny, Chet and Mike were in their vehicles, maneuvering them into place. Captain Stanley and Marco jogged back to the station to grab some ropes, chains and hooks. They came back and began tying the ends of the three ropes to the car's rear axle, laying on their stomachs and stretching to reach the proper spots. Johnny, Chet and Mike did the same with their vehicles' tow hooks and three more ropes. The ends of their ropes were tied to one end of a single chain, and the ropes trailing from the car were fastened to the other end of the chain – so there was no risk of the three larger vehicles pulling directly on the car's axle with uneven pressure. Mike had made that suggestion after considering what would happen if too much direct pressure from three different points snapped the axle into a couple of pieces.

"Ow! Sonofabitch!" Captain Stanley suddenly jumped up, shaking his hand furiously. Marco jumped up too to take a look. Mike, Johnny and Chet hopped out of their vehicles and ran back to check on him.

The captain waved them off. "It's alright guys, I just brushed the exhaust. Damn thing was still hot!"

Mike could see blisters starting to pop up on the captain's left hand and wrist. "Drive my truck Cap. I'll help Marco with the ropes." Mike knew he was telling his captain what to do – not really a good idea for someone who wanted to make captain himself some day -- but he knew that otherwise Cap would ignore the pain.

Captain Stanley looked like he was about to refuse, but then Johnny went into paramedic mode. "We don't want those blisters popping and getting infected before Roy and I can take a better look at 'em. Seems like Mike's got a good idea there, Cap. In fact, why don't I dress them before we take this road show any further."

Mike didn't say anything, but looked at Johnny gratefully for the support. Cap didn't look too happy, but kept quiet long enough for Johnny to get some dressings and saline on his hand.

"Good thing it's my left hand," said the captain sheepishly. "Otherwise I couldn't move Mike's gear-shift very well. That was really stupid of me."

"Yeah, well, steering isn't gonna be much fun either Cap, so just be careful with that dressing," Johnny warned. With that, they all headed back to their positions. Mike got down on his stomach and took up where Captain Stanley had left off, tying a rope onto the car's axle. He eyed the exhaust warily as he maneuvered the rope in place. He could hear Roy inside, chattering with the stuck woman. Sometimes he almost envied Roy and Johnny's ability to make patients feel at ease. It seemed like anytime he talked to anyone, about anything, people just stared at him strangely. Cap and Beth were the only two people who seemed to understand fully what was going on in his head.

Next to him, Marco finished up with his rope and got to work on the second one. Mike finally tied off his as well, and they stood up together, brushing their greasy hands on their pants. Mike had to suppress a sudden urge to yell, "Gentlemen, start your engines," opting instead to give the three men a thumbs-up. Their engines roared to life. He yelled down to Roy, "we're ready up here. Hold on tight."

"We're ready down here," the paramedic answered.

A small crowd was gathering at the edge of the crevice on both sides, watching the operation. As Marco went to shoo them away, the handi-talkie crackled to life on the ground next to Mike.

"Wait up," Mike yelled to the three men, and grabbed the handi-talkie. "Unit calling H-T 51 repeat," he ordered.

"H-T 51 this is Mayfair ambulance 16. We are approaching your location from the north. Please advise as to road condition."

"Mayfair ambulance 16, H-T 51. Suggest you utilize side streets to approach scene from the south."

"Copy that H-T 51. Mayfair ambulance 16 out."

Good, Mike thought. Just in time. He put the handi-talkie back on the ground. "Marco," he called, "go hang out by Cap and the guys, so if someone is going too fast or slow, you can let them know."

"Sure thing Mike," Marco said, and headed in that direction. Mike took another look at the Rover, his truck and the van. That van. Sheesh. That van had to be the ugliest thing Mike ever saw, and he wasn't too sure about its towing ability either. But every little bit helped, he thought, willing himself to believe it. Chet was eagerly hanging out the van's side window, waiting for the signal to go.

"OK Marco, tell them to start moving slowly."

The ropes grew taut, and the car's rear end slowly rose out of the ground. Out of the corner of his eye, Mike could see the ambulance pull up. He could also hear Marco yelling directions at Cap and the guys, but Mike's main attention was on the car. The rear wheels were next out of the crevice. Now the car's undercarriage was in direct contact with the edge, and it threw up a shower of sparks as it was dragged slowly along by the three ropes.

"Stop!" Mike yelled, holding up his hand. Sparks. That definitely wasn't a good thing. Who knew what shape the gas tank was in? He looked under the car. From what little he could see, the gas tank was intact. But he didn't want to bet Roy's life on it, much less the woman's.

He walked up to his truck. "Cap, we're getting sparks where the undercarriage is rubbing the pavement. Gas tank looks OK, but I can't be sure."

Captain Stanley considered the problem. "Can we get a hose out here?"

Mike took off running for the station again. The reel line might not make it, but an inch-and-a-half should do the trick. The only problem would be water pressure. If it was too high, and he had to put the charged hose down to tend to another problem, the nozzle would bounce around like a ping-pong ball. He did some quick calculations, set the pressure, and hauled the hose outside – laying it carefully near the car. The hose stayed put, and the water started trickling from the nozzle and pooling around the car.

Mike heard a yelp from inside the car – he'd forgotten to warn Roy and the victim about the water. "Sorry Roy," he called. "Sparks."

"You could warn a guy," Roy yelled back up.

Mike grinned and signaled the three men to start pulling away again. The car's undercarriage scraped along the edge of the crevice, but with no sparks this time. Soon the front tires caught the edge, and the car was back on solid ground.

Johnny and Chet ran out of their vehicles and whooped. "I knew my van could do it," Chet bragged, giving Johnny a high five.

Johnny went to help Cap out of Mike's truck and see what further damage the captain had done to his hand. The ambulance attendants rolled a stretcher toward the car as a sopping wet Roy crawled out. He walked around the other side of the car and pulled the driver's side door open. A woman sat inside, also sopping wet, with blood dripping from her face. "I'll need the jaws to get her feet out," Roy said.

Mike headed back to the engine, quickly shut off the hose and grabbed the jaws for Roy. He watched as Roy and Marco made short work of the dashboard, and freed the woman. She walked to the stretcher, so Mike guessed that her feet weren't hurt – just stuck.

"I'll take her and Cap in," Johnny told Roy. "You get dried off. You look like you went swimming while the rest of us were working hard."

"Ha ha," Roy said, without a trace of humor in his voice. He turned to Mike. "Forgot, huh?" Uh oh. Mike was going to have to steer clear of Roy for a little while.

*

The married men of Station 51 called their wives, while the single men picked up broken dishes and secured any items that had worked themselves loose during the quake. The TV news had helicopter shots of 223rd street, along with an interview with a city official who said the crevice was a fluke, caused by an old sewer line that collapsed when the first tremor came. Police arrived for traffic control, and soon the street in front of the station was empty of cars. Cap had lost the Guess-the-Richter-Sale game – the quake was a 5.4. But due to the mysterious ways of shifting tectonic plates, it appeared damage to populated areas was more cosmetic than tragic.

After talking to Beth, Mike waited quietly at the kitchen table, sifting through the rest of the paper. The phone rang, and he picked it up. It was the chief.

"Sorry to hear that Stoker. Hope he's OK. Tell him a little butter will clear up those blisters in no time," Chief McKonnike said in response to Mike's news about Captain Stanley's hand. Mike grimaced; Johnny and Roy had just lectured a burn victim last week about the old-wives tale of putting butter on burns. "Anyway Stoker, I'll tell you what I was going to tell him. This wasn't as bad as it could have been, but we obviously can't just send you guys home to relax in the middle of this mess."

"Yes sir."

"So I'm sending you all to 8's for the rest of your shift to help out. Might be a little tough bunking, but they definitely got the worst of it over in that area. Except for you. You're going to 59's. Their A-shift engineer got zapped by a downed power line. He's OK, but he'll be out for awhile. So grab some chow and then head out. We're still working out what to do with B and C shifts. I'll let Hank know when I talk to him."

"Yes sir." 59's. He might as well be going to Timbuktu. Sigh.

"Good job out there. Hang in there."

"Yes sir. Goodbye sir."

Mike hung up the phone, and headed toward the apparatus bay to tell the guys about their new assignment. He decided not to mention the chief's suggestion that they eat lunch before heading out. After all, he was in command for the next few minutes, and the least he could do for his men in that short period of time was protect them from Chet's cooking.

THE END


End file.
